


To the Duke of Wynham, and his doomed line

by raigr



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game), homebrew - Fandom
Genre: (Just a little bit), Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Dragonborn (D&D), Elf/Dragonborn sex, F/M, Genital Piercing, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Size Kink, among other things, and they make a slutty bet, basically a dragonborn & genderqueer elf have a lot of sex, but they also have chemistry, i like writing dialogue ok & these two are pretty charming, porn with dialogue, that should be a tag, you probably can't physically deepthroat a dick that big but who's to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raigr/pseuds/raigr
Summary: He asked in a low voice, “Have you never been with a dragonborn before?”She briefly considered lying, but she wasn’t sure how much she could get away with by bullshitting--though she’d heard plenty of rumors, she hadn’t yet done any hands-on research on dragonborn anatomy. “No, you’re my first,” she admitted, laughing dryly to herself as she met his gaze. “It’s been a long time since I’ve said that.”“Excited?” he asked with a smile.“I knew as soon as I saw you I was going to climb you like a tree,” she replied, without missing a beat.





	To the Duke of Wynham, and his doomed line

**Author's Note:**

> posts a new fic after 5 years of radio silence & it's fuckin d&d porn
> 
> i started writing this like two years ago & was seized by a sudden urge to finish it despite that i haven't played d&d in about as long fjkdlfjk
> 
> this is from a homebrew campaign i was in some time ago. we decided these characters canonically got up to somethin, & i wanted to write that somethin. drazire is my character! he's a copper dragonborn bard who plays the banjo. emmyth belongs to my friend jas. she's a genderqueer elf who's really slutty, and we stan her. we stan her so hard

Drazire plucked softly at his banjo, claws picking delicately at the strings to the tune of a new song he was trying to pin down. The fire had long since begun to die, now only a few flickering flames over glowing embers. The sounds of the forest had taken over in place of its crackling: leaves whispering in the wind, insects chirping, a solitary owl hooting in the distance. Seated in the warmth of the dying fire, surrounded by--well, not friends yet he supposed, but comrades--he felt safe, and the sounds of the wilderness only provided a lovely background ensemble.

His tongue peeked out in concentration as he experimented with a few fast sequences of notes, his fingers flying over the strings in a jaunty tune. The crowd liked his stories and his songs well enough, but in his experience, this is what they really went crazy for: the fast-paced solos that got your heart thumping and your foot tapping. He was never one for sad or somber music.

Emmyth, meanwhile, watched from across the fire, having just re-emerged from her tent. Everyone else had gone to bed, so this was a golden opportunity for her. She had not yet checked a dragonborn off her list, and here one just happened to be in their party--and one with criminally tight pants, too. She had just been preparing, and it had taken her longer than she’d thought trying to pick out an outfit that might please a dragonborn. In the end she’d settled on a lacy maroon bra with matching panties under a V-necked tunic. Something simple, eye-pleasing, and easy to take off.

He was still playing and didn’t seem to have noticed her, so she decided to draw his attention.

“What else can those fingers do?”

He jumped a little in surprise, his riff ending abruptly on an off-key note. He hadn’t realized anyone else was still awake, but there stood Emmyth, one hand on her cocked hip, her neckline tantalizingly low and her expression… sultry. It was kind of cute, she thought, the wide-eyed expression on his face as he took her in.

“Play a tin whistle,” he answered without thinking.

“Tch.” Her posture changed and she looked haughtily disappointed by this answer. _She wanted something to happen,_ he realized, and almost smacked himself--of course she wanted something to happen, she wasn’t wearing any pants. He was just always surprised when someone who wasn’t a fan of his music showed sexual interest in him, especially someone who wasn’t a dragonborn. Plenty thought him handsome, perhaps even rugged, but few took the leap to “desirable.” He was simply too different for most people’s tastes, too unfamiliar. But he should’ve guessed she would be the adventurous type--after all, she _had_ attempted to seduce the captain of the royal guard in the middle of a crisis (though he couldn’t blame her for trying; Samsa was gorgeous).

She turned to go back to her tent and he said hastily, “If you wanted me to warm your bed, you could’ve just asked.”

With a smirk, she turned back to face him and said, “I just did, darling.”

After a beat, he barked a laugh and rose to his feet, leaning his banjo against the log he’d just been sitting on. “Well then, Emmyth,” he inclined his head in a small, polite bow, “my tent or yours?”

She glanced at the one she’d seen him setting up earlier. It was certainly the largest of all of them (at least from the outside), and might’ve even been tall enough for her to stand up straight in, but she was sure hers would be more accommodating. “Mine,” she said, beckoning him with a finger as she stepped towards it.

He followed obediently, but when his eyes rested on her tent he grew doubtful. It was certainly a luxurious-looking tent, sewn from deep violet velour and tied down with black rope that seemed to swallow any light that hit it, but… “It looks a little small.”

“I'm sure everything does to you,” she said coyly. She lifted the flap of the tent. “Trust me, scaley boy, there’s plenty of room.”

“‘Scaley boy’?” he repeated with a laugh, crouching and crawling through the entrance. He froze halfway through the door in shock and uttered a reverent, “By the gods.” Inside the tent was a full-sized bedroom, certainly much larger and taller than the outside of the tent. The walls were made of the same velour fabric as the exterior and the ceiling arched high overhead like a small circus tent, but Drazire nevertheless felt like he had stepped through a portal into another room. The interior was lit with a few flickering candles, and the air was filled with the comforting scent of a flowery incense. In the corner was a small wardrobe, on the opposite wall was a dressing table with a large ornate mirror, and against the center of the back wall was a queen-sized bed. Everything was neat and tidy, not a thing out of place.

He’d heard of tents like this--enchanted tents that were “bigger on the inside”--but this was his first time seeing one in person. From what he’d heard, they were extremely expensive and difficult to procure.

He felt a light kick against the back of his thigh. “What are you, a housecat? In or out, scaley boy?”

He sat back on his feet and pulled his head back out, looking up at Emmyth. “This is amazing,” he said in awe. “Where did you get this?”

“From a traveling merchant. It cost me thirty thousand gold pieces and an exceptionally exquisite blowjob.” She smiled and lowered her voice suggestively. “The fabric of the tent is enchanted to keep sound from escaping it.”

He laughed again. “I bet that comes in handy,” he said amiably, and crawled inside. He was used to fucking in tents after so much traveling, but if he ever got the chance, he’d have to get one of these.

She climbed in after to find him thoughtfully examining the collection of crystal dildos lined up on her dresser. Quietly, she removed her tunic and hung it on the handle of her wardrobe. “See anything you like?”

“This one.” He pointed to the one at the very end of the line, a large black hematite dildo larger than any human or elvish cock that he’d ever seen. “Do you--” He cut off as he turned to look back at her and his mouth opened slightly in pleasant surprise.

There were two things for which Drazire envied the other races: tattoos and hairstyles. Emmyth’s hair, a lovely reddish color, was braided on one side and cascaded over the other shoulder in a loose fountain of dusty rose. And her tattoos… His eyes were especially drawn to the tree inked into her chest. An invisible breeze across her skin rustled its branches and tugged loose a couple leaves which twirled up to her collarbone and disintegrated. Most dragonborn preferred the rough, firm scales of their own kin and the way the light caught their colors, but there was an unmistakable appeal to the softness and fragility of skin, especially on a figure like Emmyth’s. Her face was captivating, her make-up done perfectly with various ear cuffs and piercings glinting in the low firelight. She looked beautifully delicate, like a flower, but Drazire knew just from the past few days she couldn’t be trampled so easily. If she was a flower then she was a poisonous one, and he briefly imagined her pretty head adorned with a crown of wolfsbane.

“You’re beautiful,” he said reverently.

“Don’t get sappy on me, darling,” Emmyth said breezily, but she couldn’t help the proud smile tugging at her lips. Flattery was something she was well used to hearing, especially those two words, but there was something sweet about the open sincerity in his eyes. He had the face of someone who’d never had their heart broken. “But you’re not too bad yourself, handsome.”

“It’s the jawline,” he said confidently, drawing his fingers under his chin as though he were posing for a portrait.

She laughed, feeling more relaxed. It was oddly comfortable to talk to him. She’d been with plenty of people who took sex far too seriously, and while it wasn’t always a turn-off, it did make the experience a little less fun.

As she approached him, her eyes drifted down from his face. Everything about him was just _big_ \--his neck, his shoulders, his chest… and, gods, the neckline on his vest plunged lower than some of her most scandalous tops. This was usually the part of the night where they would make out as they fumbled with each others’ clothes, but--well, how did dragonborn make out, exactly? “You don’t do much kissing, do you?” she asked doubtfully, after a look at the long line of his lips.

“Not open-mouthed, no. Our faces aren’t really built for that,” he replied with a shrug. “We do a lot of biting, though. And licking,” he added, sticking the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He watched her as she shrugged and began to deftly unhook the buckle for his pauldron, and he asked in a low voice, “Have you never been with a dragonborn before?”

She briefly considered lying, but she wasn’t sure how much she could get away with by bullshitting--though she’d heard plenty of rumors, she hadn’t yet done any hands-on research on dragonborn anatomy. “No, you’re my first,” she admitted, laughing dryly to herself as she met his gaze. “It’s been a long time since I’ve said that.”

“Excited?” he asked with a smile.

“I knew as soon as I saw you I was going to climb you like a tree,” she replied, without missing a beat.

“Stop, you're making me blush,” he said bashfully.

It was true; when she’d first laid eyes on him in the grand hall--bloody, a little beaten, still holding his mace in one hand--her eyes had been glued to his biceps for a full minute. She had been so distracted by his arms that it wasn’t until their ride over on the boat that she noticed his pants (or rather, what his pants seemed to be advertising). He was just so _thick._ She had been determined since then to find out, finally, what it’s like to fuck a dragonborn--this dragonborn in particular. It turned out to be much easier than she’d thought; she was prepared to lay on the charm for weeks if she had to, but here he was, following her to her bed like a lost puppy.

A very muscular, horny lost puppy.

Having cast his pauldron aside, she started on the buttons of his vest. “So what did you have in mind?” Drazire murmured in her ear, and she felt his hands (softer than she’d expected, like old parchment) slide up her back to pick at the fasteners of her bra. The feeling sent a warm sensation down her spine. “Oral? Handjobs? Finger-fucking?”

He let out a yelp as she yanked him down to eye-level by the lapels of his vest. “I want you to fuck me,” she purred fiercely.

“A-Are you sure?” he stammered, wide-eyed, the note of seduction gone from his voice. “I’m pretty… big. I mean I’m not trying to brag, it’s just a fact--”

“ _I_ _want to feel you inside of me_ ,” she interrupted, sounding almost urgent.

The unfiltered desire in her tone sent a thrill of excitement stirring in his gut. “Okay,” he agreed, but it didn’t quite overcome the trepidation there as well. “But, I mean… Are you _sure_?”

“That dildo you were looking at?” She gestured to the black hematite one on her dresser. “I was riding that last night.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m thicker--”

“You didn’t let me finish, scaley boy.” She released him and walked over to the dresser, opening one of the drawers. From it, she produced a massive bright red butt plug about three inches in diameter.

Drazire’s face broke into a disbelieving grin. “Have you been wearing that all day?” She nodded with a satisfied expression, and Drazire’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “We were riding horses…”

She nodded again, putting the plug back in its drawer. “So where were we?”

It took him a moment to close his jaw and re-focus. “I… We were stripping,” he said with a snap of his fingers. He shrugged out of his vest, dropping it carelessly on the floor, and stepped towards her, reaching around to finish what he started on her bra.

She took advantage of their rejoined proximity to admire the hard lines of his torso and he hummed appreciatively as he felt her hands slide down over his stomach, around his hips, and up his back. It took him a moment to unhook her bra, but once he got it he dropped it to the floor by his vest and hooked his fingers deftly in the waistband of her panties. As he tugged them down, he followed the movement, trailing soft kisses in a line from her collarbone down to her navel until her panties were down to her ankles. He gave her a moment to step out of them before returning his attention upwards from where he was kneeling.

If he was surprised to see she had a dick, he didn’t show it--in fact, she thought it had somehow escaped his notice entirely until he leaned in and planted another kiss right at the base of it, his warm breath tickling her skin. It wasn’t hard yet, but it had lifted slightly in anticipation. She ran a hand down the line of his jaw and he hummed again, low in his throat. The dim candlelight washed his eyes of their blue color, but the way it shone on his copper scales was beautiful. Some nobles would kill to have armor as pretty as him. She knew he could snap her like a twig if he wanted, but he was so unbelievably gentle… and she was getting impatient.

“When are you going to give me what I want?” she murmured, trailing a finger down his nose.

He slid his hands tantalizingly up her thighs, giving them a squeeze right below her ass. “I’m an entertainer,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “I’m not going to start with my best act.”

“Ugh.” She sounded disgusted, but there was a smirk on her face. “Well, if you’re going to take your time, I need a drink.”

He rose to his feet and got to enjoy the view of her naked ass as she turned around, grabbing a large bottle of summer wine off the dresser and pouring two glasses. “You’ve slept with a lot of people, right?” he asked as she handed him one. He took a sip and was greeted with a pleasantly sweet, fruity taste. He usually preferred mead himself, but this wine was uncommonly delicious. He’d have to ask where she got it.

“So many I’ve lost count,” she answered, taking a seat on the bed and lounging back against the headboard lazily. “That’s not a problem, is it, scaley boy?”

He followed her onto the bed, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, being careful not to spill his glass. “No, of course not. I was just going to ask what your favorite encounter was.”

“I don’t play favorites, darling. Every encounter is special for me in some way.”

“Okay.” He licked his lips. “So what was your  _least_ favorite?”

She laughed loudly, admiring his tenacity, and took a long gulp from her glass, leaning forward slightly. “It was a few years back,” she began. “I had just started working on my own, and I was strapped for cash. As I was passing through Wynham, I was approached by the Duke and offered a large sum of money to--”

“Wait, the Duke of Wynham?” interrupted Drazire, holding up a hand. “How long ago was this?”

Emmyth looked mildly irritated at being cut off. “A few years back,” she repeated. “Couldn’t have been more than three. He was very frustrated at the time because there was a drinking song going around--” She cut herself off. “Wait.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as a grin spread across his face, suddenly remembering that he was a traveling bard. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

He nodded enthusiastically, looking extremely proud of himself.

“No.” She shook her head. “No, there’s no way. Oh, how did it go-- _He said to his wife that night, ‘banging you’s a chore_ \--”

“-- _I know we need some sons, but I’d rather fuck the poor!’_ ” finished Drazire, laughing. “Yeah, that was me, I wrote that!”

“Prove it.”

He held up a finger and set his glass down on the nightstand, fumbling at one of the pouches on his belt. (Emmyth wondered for a moment why on earth he still had his pants on. She’d have to rectify that soon.) From it, he produced a very frail-looking piece of folded-up parchment and handed it to her, his expression positively gleeful. She set her glass down as well and unfolded the parchment to find herself looking down at a very old wanted poster. The ink was faded in places, especially where it had been creased, but the picture in the center was undoubtedly a portrait of Drazire. _Wanted: Drazire Goraroth, for treason against the Duke of Wynham. Reward: 20,000 GP._

“ _Treason_?” she repeated in disbelief, her eyebrows raised. “Damn, I’m a little jealous I don’t have something like this on my record. Twenty thousand gold pieces… He must’ve been outraged.”

“Oh, definitely, he’s still after my head,” said Drazire proudly as she handed the sign back to him. “I mean, it’s not like I think there’s anything wrong with erectile dysfunction, it was more of a commentary on his approach to the poverty-stricken--”

“It wasn’t erectile dysfunction,” Emmyth interrupted with a sly smile. “He could definitely get it up. It just took very _specific_ circumstances.” Drazire sat forward expectantly, giving her his full attention. “That’s what I was about to tell you--he offered me a large sum of money not just to fuck me, but to have me wear a wig and let him call me ‘mommy.’”

“No!” said Drazire incredulously. “You didn’t go through with it, did you?”

“Well, I tried,” she admitted. “I told you, I was strapped for cash. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten that request, and everyone’s gotta eat, right? Anyway, he asked to suck on my tit, but when my tits didn’t… well, they weren’t what he was looking for, so he had his guards escort me out of the estate. Didn’t pay me a single piece, and forbade me from returning.” She shrugged and took another gulp of wine.

“Oh, man, I wish I had known all that when I was writing the song. There’s so much good material there,” groaned Drazire. “Gods, what a scumbag.”

“It was still worth it, of course,” she added.

“How?”

“I stole his pants.”

“His _pa--_ wait _,_ those bright red ones he used to wear all the time?” She nodded. _“How?!_ ” repeated Drazire, more incredulously.

“I just put them on and walked right out in them. He was so flustered to get me out of there he didn’t even notice.” She smiled slyly. “I walked out with the four platinum he’d had in his pockets and the Duke of Wynham’s renowned red pants, which I sold for another two hundred gold. It was a pretty good day.” Drazire laughed uproariously, and after he quieted down, Emmyth raised her glass. “To the Duke of Wynham,” she said with a smirk, “and his doomed line.”

Drazire clinked his glass against hers, and they both downed what was left in them.

“Alright,” said Emmyth decisively, setting her empty glass down on the nightstand. She pawed his thigh with her foot. “Back to it, big boy. Let’s see the goods.”

Drazire smiled and stood up off the bed. Emmyth sat forward on the edge of the mattress and watched with interest as he removed his belt and all the pouches that went with it. He seemed to be taking his time, enjoying the attention as he slowly pulled down his pants and boxer briefs, kicking them off his ankle with a flourish.

She’d thought he had to have been stuffing, at least a little bit, but once she got a good look it was obvious he didn’t need to. He wasn’t lying, either--it _was_ big, and those pants were not false advertising. It looked thick and ridged like the scales on his back, but it didn’t have the same shine as the rest of his body. The head was a darker reddish-brown than the rest of him, and she caught the unmistakable silver glint of an ampallang piercing. Her own cock twitched just _looking_ at his, and he wasn’t even hard yet.

He cocked a hip. “See anything you like?” he asked with a shit-eating grin, turning her words back on her.

“ _Yes_ ,” she replied, a little too loudly, her eyes still glued to his dick. He laughed. She reached hastily for the drawer of the nightstand, pulling from within it a half-empty tube of lubricant which she shoved into Drazire’s hand.

He approached her and she spread her legs wordlessly, laying back on the mattress and watching as he squeezed some of the lube out onto his fingers. He took her gently into his hand and gave her an experimental pull, tongue swiping at his lips at her soft exhale. After a couple more strokes he slotted in closer, bringing the both of them into his lube-slicked grasp, and within a few quick pulls she could feel them both getting hard against each other. Their breaths were coming fast and short when Drazire switched hands, and his first one wandered south. He watched her carefully, catching her sharp intake of breath as he pressed a finger into her asshole. She was already pretty loose, so he didn’t wait long before adding another.

“You seem like you’ve been doing this sort of thing for a while,” he said as he scissored his fingers, working her open. “How come I’m your first dragonborn?”

It took her a moment to focus on what he was asking amid the sensation of having two thick, scaly fingers currently inside of her and five more of those fingers jerking her off. “I just--never got the opportunity before,” she said tightly, panting a bit. “I haven’t really-- _ahh_ \--met many dragonborn before, and most of them weren’t really… interested.” She paused, fingers curling into the bedspread as he gently pulled his fingers out. “ _Fuck._ Are you always so chatty, banjo boy?”

“Banjo boy,” he repeated with a laugh. “I think that’s my favorite so far. And yes, I am,” he added, bending to kiss her chest. “You didn’t take me out to dinner first, so how else am I supposed to get to know you?”

She thought longingly of the ball gag currently packed away in the luggage she’d left at the Drunken Sunflower.

He knelt just then, hooking her legs over his broad shoulders and leaning in. She felt his lips against her asshole and then his tongue inside of it and _gods above_ it was longer than any human tongue she’d ever encountered. The tip of it pressed against her prostate and she groaned, both from pleasure and the disappointing realization that to hinder that tongue under a ball gag would simply be a crime.

He withdrew, replacing his tongue with his fingers again, this time starting with two. He spent some more time working her open, and at some point she felt a third finger stretch her wider. The sounds she was making were delightful--the soft hitches of breath, the panting, the sweet noises from her throat.

She felt him hook his fingers, and his claws--not painfully sharp, but stubby and blunt--dug gently into her prostate as he pulled them slowly out, drawing a decadent moan from her lips. (Drazire sincerely hoped she was telling the truth about the enchantment on the fabric of the tent.) Her hips had bucked involuntarily, her cock now fully erect, and she felt disappointingly hollow without him inside of her. “Fuck me already,” she hissed, glaring at him.

“If you insist,” he said, feigning nonchalance, as if he wasn’t completely hard and craving a little friction himself. She rolled her eyes. He took a few moments to grab a condom out of his pouch and roll it on over his erect cock before making his way back to her. He let his hands glide up the backs of her thighs, pushing her legs apart.

She shivered as she felt the head of his cock press into her. Drazire had applied a generous amount of lube (again) and was inserting himself very slowly, paying careful attention to her reaction. “ _Fuck_ ,” she moaned, the unfamiliar textures of his dick sliding exquisitely against her prostate. Gods, she could feel his piercing, even through the condom. His cock was wonderfully thick--she’d never been stretched so far before, and if she hadn’t prepared, she wouldn’t have been able to take it.

“How does it feel?” He almost sounded strained, and when she looked into his eyes she could see that his pupils were blown wide, a thin ring of blue around them.

“Good,” she whispered, biting her lip. The view was fantastic--he was hunched over her, his elbows locked and hands braced against the mattress. She could see clearly the muscles of his chest and arms, even the tendons of his neck standing out. Craning her neck, she could see him buried in her to the hilt, and felt a crooked, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

She wondered briefly if this was what mountain climbers felt like when they reached a summit.

Reaching up a hand to stroke at his jaw, she grabbed him by one of his horns and tugged on it insistently. “Fuck me, big boy.”

He obeyed, and she had to brace her feet against the edge of the mattress as he pulled out slightly and thrust slowly back inward. He already looked as wrecked as she felt, his mouth open slightly, breath huffing fast against her bare skin. “Gods, you’re so tight,” he moaned, thrusting again. Too absorbed in the feeling of his cock inside of her, she couldn’t quite manage a response.

He started to pick up speed. She was only the second person he’d fucked who wasn’t a dragonborn, and he had almost forgotten what it felt like. The friction was better than he could’ve imagined, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long, but he wanted to hold out until she came first. Her cock was laid back flat against her stomach, flushed a pretty red and leaking precum from the slit. The urge to taste it had to be pushed back for now--he wasn’t that flexible.

“Faster,” she urged, abandoning her hold on his horn to grab fistfuls of the sheets instead.

“Are you sure?” he rumbled, bending to kiss at her neck.

“For fuck’s sake, _yes._ ”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask.” She rolled her eyes. His kisses turned to delicate nips and trailed down to her chest as he moved his hips faster. He closed his lips around one of her nipples, tugging gently at it with his teeth, and was rewarded with a loud, lustful sigh.

She could both hear and feel his balls slapping obscenely against her ass as his hips pistoned into her. His thighs were so _powerful._ She wanted to grab them suddenly, to map the muscles with her hands, but her fingers remained curled tightly in the sheets. She was definitely going to be tender the next day, but it was so worth it.

He shifted then, hoisting a leg up onto the bed over one of her thighs and gripping her other in one of his massive hands. He resumed his brutal pace. At this angle, with new leverage, he could pound further into her, his dick making her muscles sing and spasm with delight, each thrust now drawing a cry from her lips. Her neck and chest were damp with saliva from his long, draconic tongue, and from her own beading sweat. The muscles in her gut clenched, unbidden, and Drazire began to grunt, a low, staccato sound that marked each smack of their thighs together. He wasn’t teasing at her nipples anymore, too distracted by sensation, but she couldn’t complain in a similarly affected state. His hand gripped her thigh in a thoughtless, bruising vice. She only vaguely registered the wet drip of drool that fell to her shoulder.

She could feel a tense thread of pleasure, stretched so tight it was about to snap--

He shifted his hips slightly, bucked into her, and without warning, she climaxed with an unearthly, guttural moan, ropes of white cum spilling up her chest as high as her collarbone. He continued to fuck her through the haze of her orgasm, his grunts now breathy huffs against the shell of her ear. Finally, just as the sensation was starting to overwhelm her, his hips stuttered against her and his spine shivered, stirring one final, growling moan from his throat.

He remained curled over her, head pressed into the pillow next to her, just listening to the sounds of their labored breaths while the smell of sex and spunk stifled the air between them. The muscles in his thighs were trembling and there was a fuzzy, warm feeling spreading through his limbs. He guessed she felt the same, judging by the dusky, contented look on her face as she regarded him. She looked good--glistening with sweat, face flushed, hair slightly disheveled, and her cock, a little limp now, listing to the side. Her makeup was still impeccable, of course.

She watched as he pulled out slowly, feeling tender in a wonderful way. There was quite a collection of cum in the bottom of his condom, and she was a little disappointed as he tied it off and disposed of it that she wouldn't be able to taste it. That, she supposed, was a mystery of the dragonborn that would have to wait for another time. He returned after a moment to bend carefully over her and lick the cum off her chest with a few long strokes of his tongue.

“How do I taste, big boy?” she asked.

He licked his lips thoughtfully. “Kinda bitter,” he admitted. With a toothy grin he leaned in and added, “But I’d go back for seconds.”

Fuck, that was tempting. “Smooth.” She punched him gently on the arm, rolling her eyes, but the coy smile gave her away.

“No, seriously.” He nosed her jaw playfully and lowered his voice. “I’ll bet you twenty gold pieces I can make you come twice.”

He pulled back and they locked eyes. She could tell he was being serious, and whatever he had up his sleeve, she wanted it. Besides, it was a win-win scenario--either she would get treated to another probably-fabulous orgasm, or she’d get some extra gold. Matching his tone, she replied, “You’re on.” After a beat she added, “But let’s take a break first. Go on, get me some more wine.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m wearing you out,” he teased, trailing a quick line of kisses down her stomach.

“In your dreams.” He darted out of the way of her sharp kick, stuck out his tongue, and turned to the dresser. This time it was her turn to admire his ass as he turned it to her to refill their glasses. It looked firm, with those lovely dimples right where his spine met his tailbone. She wondered briefly what it’d be like to fuck that ass--would she have to use a massive strap-on? What was the biggest cock he’d taken? Would he like being fisted? What kind of sounds would he make if he did?

Holding their glasses, he turned back to see that she had shifted in her seat and was watching him lazily from the edge of the mattress, her legs crossed at the knees. Drazire handed her the other glass and took a seat at the headboard, leaning against it with a sigh. They sat wordlessly for a few moments, sipping absently at the wine.

“So is it just me,” began Drazire, breaking the silence, “or is everyone in our party fucking gorgeous?”

She groaned and threw her head back. “Gods, _honestly_. Ugh, I would pay money to see that little twink wood elf’s bare ass.”

“He _is_ cute,” agreed Drazire.

“And that Drow boy--oh, what’s his name--”

“Edrym?”

“No--fuck, but he's handsome, too. No, um, the one that’s always looking at the sky.”

“Oh, Ris!”

She nodded fervently, and Drazire grinned, inwardly agreeing. He thought about the deep lavender color of Ris’s skin, and how well it complemented his silver hair. As though reading his mind, she pointed over at the dresser and said, “You know, I’m pretty sure I have a dildo the exact shade of that boy’s skin.”

Drazire whipped his head around to look. “Holy shit, you’re right.” It was hard to miss. It stood in the center of Emmyth’s impressive line-up, its opaque color suggestive of amethyst. There was a lovely fade to a deeper violet in the head.

“Makes me wonder if it’s the same size, too,” added Emmyth with a wink.

“If anyone could find out, it’d be you,” said Drazire. “They’re kind of shy, though, aren’t they? The two of them,” he asked doubtfully. He also got the vague impression that they were together, but that wasn’t any of his business.

“Mm, I suppose you’re right,” she agreed thoughtfully. She sighed. “I’ll have to wait and let them come to me.”

“You sound awfully confident.”

She locked eyes with him playfully over her wine glass. “My charm worked on you, didn’t it?”

“I was hardly an unwilling participant,” he said with a laugh. “And I don’t think the approach you took with me would work on them.”

“True. They’re a little more skittish.” She took another sip of her wine, her cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol. “What about you, big boy? Who’s your favorite?”

Drazire thought for a minute, suddenly feeling bashful. He scratched the back of his head. “Maybe it’s just the horns,” he said, “and the tongue. But I’ve always had a thing for tieflings.”

“Trust me, it’s not just the horns.” She huffed, a sultry look in her eyes. “I’d let that boy tie me down and have his way with me.”

“You should ask him. I bet he’d be down.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You guys seem to have the same type. Actually, he seemed to be better at flirting th--”

“Shut up,” interrupted Emmyth hastily, laughing through her fingers. “Shut up, we’re not talking about that. _Gods_ he’s so frustrating. Get that shit-eating grin off your face, you fool--” He broke into a roaring laugh as she kicked him sharply in the leg, almost spilling her drink in the process.

After their mirth faded away, Emmyth asked curiously, “What about--oh, gods, what’s his name? It’s something ridiculous. The gnome.”

He almost choked on his drink. After a couple coughs, he managed, “I think Jtort’s a bit small for me, don’t you?”

“Touché,” she said with a laugh. “I suppose Urum’s more your size, hm?”

Drazire let his head fall back with a groan, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “He’s _so big_ ,” he moaned. “Too bad he’s married. Too bad for me, anyway.”

“You never know, they might not be exclusive.”

“They seem like they are, I dunno. Anyway, I’m… kinda shy. I--I couldn’t just ask them like that, I barely know them.”

“What? You’re not shy,” said Emmyth disbelievingly.

Drazire felt like he might not be confessing these feelings if he was sober. “Yes I am. Everyone I’ve ever been with has shown interest in me first. Well, except Jay, but he was special.”

Emmyth smiled slyly. “Drazire Goraroth, renowned banjo player, seven-foot-tall dragonborn who spits acid, is _shy_.”

This time it was his turn to kick her in the leg. “Are we going to do this, or what? I’ve got twenty gold pieces to earn.”

“Get to it, then,” she said, setting down her near-empty glass a little forcefully.

He did the same, rising from his place and strolling around the bed to stand over her. He pushed her back into the same position she was in earlier, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the roughness with which he did it. “Jay used to ask for these all the time,” he said, bending over her and sliding his soft hands up her torso.

It was the second time he’d mentioned the name. She didn’t ask who he was, though--she wasn’t nearly drunk enough for an intimate discussion about feelings.

He wasn’t either, it seemed, because he didn’t expound on it. “You’ll have to close your eyes,” he said, in between kisses and nips at her collarbone. “I’m told the sensation is unforgettable, but… It’s not always sexy to watch.”

“Well now I’m intrigued,” she said stubbornly, eyeing him. “Feeling shy, big boy?” Her coy smile turned to a frown and she craned her neck, trying to see behind him. “You’re not holding a grapefruit or something behind your back, are you?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not going to fuck you with a grapefruit. Just trust me.”

After casting him a suspicious look, she let her head fall back against the mattress and closed her eyes. She felt his kisses trail down, shivering slightly when he teased at a nipple again. His mouth left her torso and she felt her thighs being pushed out flat against the mattress. “You’re lucky I’m flexible,” she griped.

His hands pulled away without response and she had to resist the urge to see what he was up to. She could hear him shuffling with something, but she couldn’t tell what. She wasn’t used to surrendering control quite like this, and it made her nervous. The thought flitted across her mind that she hadn’t known this dragonborn for more than a few days, and a thrill of anxiety flew up her spine.

One hand reappeared, coated in lube and stroking her cock languidly, his thumb rubbing skillfully under the head. She hummed pleasantly as she felt the fingers of his other hand in her asshole, not stretching this time but simply massaging. Her toes curled as his blunted claws pressed into her prostate. It took some persuasion after her first orgasm, but he worked her until she was hard, his hands moving faster… and then abruptly stopping.

There was a beat or two of silence. She felt him hoist her legs over his shoulders, one lube-sticky hand palm down against her navel. Something slick and warm wrapped around the head of her dick and glided slowly down to the base. It slid back up again, and she moaned as it started to pick up speed.

She wanted to enjoy the feeling, but she was… distracted. It wasn’t his hand stroking her off: she could feel his other fingers teasing her asshole. But it wasn’t a grapefruit either--it felt too firm, and warm, and--

A sudden, incredible thought occurred to her and, despite Drazire’s cautioning, she _had_ to confirm it. She cracked her eyes open and lifted her head just slightly.

It was indeed as she’d suspected. Drazire’s mouth was open, jaws poised over her erection, his long tongue wrapped skillfully around it. He was bobbing his head up and down, his tongue moving with the motion, a tight wet ring of heat around her dick. She saw his eyes glance up and catch hers, giving her a playful wink as the fingers in her ass curled and she gasped in delight.

Most grown men would faint at the sight of a fully-grown dragonborn’s jaws close enough to their junk to make them a eunuch in a single bite. Emmyth, however, could only laugh wonderingly and tip her head back against the mattress to enjoy the sensation.

The hand on her navel roamed, eliciting a jump of muscle as it teased her sensitive nipple, pinching the bud between two thick fingers. His other hand pulled out a couple times to tease her balls, kneading them in his palm and sending a curl of pleasure up her spine. And all the while his tongue pushed and pulled, stroking her off faster and faster, squeezing tantalizingly around her head, the tip flicking out to catch the drops of precum that beaded at her glans. Under his studious attention, she felt the familiar building sensation of a mounting orgasm. With another squeeze of his tongue, he felt her balls twitch and pumped her through the crest of her climax, catching her seed in his waiting maw.

He pulled his tongue back, catching the last few dribbles of cum, and swallowed, licking his lips. The first thing he said when he opened his mouth again, cum smeared on his upper lip, his stupid fingers still knuckle-deep in her asshole for gods’ sakes, was, “I’ll take that twenty gold now.”

“ _Ugh,_ ” she said fervently, pushing his laughing face away with her bare foot. She started to sit up, intending to fetch her coin purse, when an idea came to her. “Hold on, big boy. I want a chance to win back that twenty gold.”

His spiny brows lifted with interest. “Oh?”

“If I can make _you_ come a second time,” she said, “I get to keep it.”

“I suppose it’s only fair,” he agreed casually, the wicked glint in his eye betraying his excitement.

She did get up then, standing on trembling legs, and pointed sharply at the mattress. “Bed. On your back.”

He laid back obediently and spread his legs for her, blue eyes watching her like a purring cat in a sunbeam. His dick was almost completely flaccid, that piercing prettily catching the dim light. Remembering her curiosities from before, she picked up the lubricant and smeared a generous amount across the fingers of both hands. She took his dick in one hand, noticing how he jumped at the cool touch of the lube, and began to toy with it slowly, curiously. Despite its ridges, it was very soft in a familiar way. She stroked all the way from the base to the head, giving a squeeze where she pleased, feeling each ridge glide under her palm. She shifted the piercing with her thumb and smiled at the strained sound it teased from his throat.

With her other hand, she reached down and pressed gently into his hole. He wasn’t terribly tight, so after working the one for a moment, she added another. He hummed, hips shifting slightly as she started scissoring her fingers, stretching the ring of muscle open. By the time she added a third, he was fully hard again and squirming, little breathy sounds escaping him. She pressed her lips to his head then, tongue swirling around his piercing and drawing out a breathy moan. Unsurprisingly, his dick had a coppery taste to it, like metal. It tasted like licking blood off a curved dagger.

She pulled off of it contemplatively. “You’re awfully quiet,” she purred, curling her fingers against his prostate and eliciting a sharp gasp from him. “Something on your mind, banjo boy?”

“ _Hnghh,_ ” he said intelligently as she squeezed a fourth finger into his ass. “Just thinkin’ ab-- _hahh!_ \--about how I’m gonna… _mm_ … spend those twenty gold. Think I’m gonna… _hghh_ … get a nice b-- _gods above--_ ”

He cut off with the expletive as she leaned down, holding her breath, and swallowed the length of his dick down her throat. It was enormous, stretching her jaws to their limit, and she was certain her teeth scraped against it on both sides. She only had a moment to note the distinct absence of pubes against her nose before she gagged and had to pull back, gasping in air as soon as her throat was open again. Drazire had started to prop himself up on his elbows, his brow creased in concern, mouth opening for a question, but she cut him off hoarsely. “I’m fine, big boy, I know what I’m doing.”

To emphasize her point, she pumped her fingers in and out of his asshole and started to stroke his dick again. He laid back with a whine, tipping his head back and exposing the line of his long throat. “What were you saying about those twenty gold?” she asked sweetly.

She heard a strained laugh. “This is revenge, isn't it?” he said weakly. She grinned and didn't answer. “I’m gonna… buy a bottle of that… _hahh_ ,” he panted as she laved her tongue up the underside of his cock and sealed her lips around the head again. “That, uhh… that sweet wine you’ve-- _hhnghg_ \--” He felt almost painfully hard under the fingers she had stroking at his base, his cock curved and straining, and she sucked up every drop of precum he had to give.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” she said smugly. As he lifted his head to glare at her, she leaned down to lick at the tip of his cock seductively, giving him a sultry look through her lashes. His mouth fell open slightly. She dipped down once more, taking him to the hilt and pulling off again almost immediately. Her stomach pulled, wanting to gag again. She figured she had one more of those stunts left before risking throwing up.

When she looked up again, Drazire’s mouth was still hanging open dumbly. He was drooling again. She could see the line of it catching the light, a single strand of saliva dangling from his lower lip. She smirked. “Tell you what, big boy. When you lose the twenty gold, I’ll give you the rest of that bottle as a consolation prize.”

He turned his nose up at that. “I don’t need your pity,” he said stiffly, but she saw his eyes dart to the where the bottle sat on the nightstand and had to bite back a laugh.

She started to pick up speed, jerking him off faster now and, tucking her thumb against the cupped palm, pushed her other hand until she was wearing his asshole as a bracelet. He was panting heavily now, chest heaving, muscles clenching and twitching around her whole hand. She began to move it just a little, back and forth barely a half inch, each of his exhales now accented with a high moan. She pulled at the base of his cock and took as much in her mouth as she could while keeping her airway open. A thready whine escaped him.

Holding her breath one more time, she sunk down onto his dick, tonguing the underside as she went. As she started to pull off, she felt it--the clench of muscle around her other hand, the strangled moan, and suddenly he was pumping cum down the back of her throat. She swallowed one spurt, then two before her eyes smarted and teared up and she had to break off completely, coughing. (She noted that, like his dick, it had a sharp coppery tang to it.) Two final dribbles of cum dripped and settled onto his abdomen. For a moment they sat there, catching their breath in the afterglow, and Emmyth had to resist the absurd urge to giggle that always arose whenever she found herself with her entire hand _inside_ of someone’s asshole.

Gently, she tugged her hand out of its grip and retrieved a washcloth from the other side of the bed. After wetting it with water from her canteen, she wiped him down, cleaning the cum from his stomach and the lube from his ass and softening cock. He sat up then, taking the cloth from her hand and returning the favor. His gaze was tender with affection as he regarded her, eyes lingering again on the tattoo on her chest. Experimentally, he blew a breath across her skin and watched with delight as it rattled the leaves of the inked tree. Then he pressed his head against her chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, listening to her heart drum softly against her sternum.

Hesitantly, she lowered her arms around his neck and allowed the embrace to persist. It was… different. If a client wanted to cuddle after a session, she usually allowed it, because that companionship was part of what they paid for. But this--he wasn’t paying for this. She could push him off, if she wanted to. Did she want to, though?

Before she could make up her mind, he released her. She hung the cloth off the wardrobe to dry and turned back to the nightstand. “I suppose this belongs to you now,” she said with a smirk, holding out the bottle of wine for him.

He took it, regarded it for a moment, and reached for their empty glasses. “I think it tastes better shared,” he said, pouring the rest out to each of them and setting the empty bottle back in its original place.

She hummed and joined him on the mattress, settling back into the pillows. Her ass felt tender, her right nipple was a little sore, and her whole body felt thoroughly fucked out, muscles weak and jelly-like. He looked about the same. She could see it in the way he reclined in the bed, in his half-lidded eyes as he took a gulp of wine.

“So, what do you think?” he asked. “Would you go again?”

The tone of his voice was playful, but there was a note of trepidation in his eye, like he was afraid she’d say no. She decided to set the teasing aside for a moment and said genuinely, “It was wonderful, Drazire.”

The look in his eyes could’ve outshone the sun. She looked away, a little bashful, and took a long drink of wine. They lapsed into silence, each sipping their wine and avoiding eye contact.

Finally, setting down her empty glass for the third time that night, she announced firmly, “We’re _not_ spooning, by the way.”

He looked mildly offended. “Why not? I’ll have you know I make an excellent big spoon.”

“If you want to sleep in a nice bed, you’ll have to get your own. I’m not sharing,” she said stubbornly, turning her nose up.

“Aw, please?” His eyes became round, like a puppy’s. Idiot. “I don’t want to go back to my cold, dark, lonely tent, all by myself, with only a blanket to keep me w--”

“Ugh, alright, fine,” she grumbled, pinching out the remaining candles before settling into the bed, turning her back to him. “But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

He snuggled against her almost immediately, pressing warm and firm against her back, laying his arm out as a pillow and draping the other over her side. She had to admit as she settled comfortably into his embrace that he did make an excellent big spoon. “Speak of this to no one,” she mumbled into his arm, feeling her breathing slow as the haze of the wine and the weight of Drazire at her back pulled her to the void of sleep.

He hummed an agreement, tucking her head under his chin and pressing his nose into the pillow. “‘Night, Emmyth.”

“Sweet dreams, banjo boy.”

Three hours later, she woke to his rumbling snore and kicked him out of her tent.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! i don't write much, but i do make a lot of art! feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://dragonfluffstudios.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/fluff_studios) :D


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